


the bastard prince

by jaimelanniser



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cousin Incest, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 13:39:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12013917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimelanniser/pseuds/jaimelanniser
Summary: Rhaegar won AU: When Prince Jon is a teenager Rhaegar sends him to Winterfell to meet his mother’s kin. Sansa immediately falls for the brooding Prince.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> story based on a prompt in the asoiaf kink meme

The royal party arrived at dusk, and even in Summer, Winterfell held a stagnant chill in the courtyard, packed as it was for the arrival of The Bastard Prince.

Sansa stood between Robb and Arya, her fur-lined cloak wrapped tightly around her body, and watched as a footman rushed over to open the door to the litter. She was as impatient as anybody to see him, of course, and had spent half the morning gossiping in hushed tones with Jeyne Poole about whether he’d be tall, or short, or have his father’s famed Southron beauty, and whether or not he’d bring any company with him.

But she remained still, even as Arya shifted and craned her neck, as a dark figure stepped out from the litter and down onto the muddy ground between them.

And her heart skipped a beat.

He had  _nothing_  of his father, from the portraits she had seen of King Rhaegar, blonde and tall and lean, with eyes like purple gemstones and skin that looked like porcelain. Prince Jon was dark-haired, dark-eyed, and held nothing of the entitled posture of grace that befitted somebody of his status.

“Welcome to Winterfell, my prince,” her father greeted him, and Sansa almost glanced over at the tone of pain in his voice. He must remind him of his sister, she thought to herself, looking back to the man before them as he greeted her family. The prince didn’t smile once as he acknowledged the rest of them — Sansa curtsied when it was her turn and tried to will away the blush on her cheeks when his eyes fell upon her — nor did he smile when her mother welcomed him to the main hall for a banquet in his honour.

Sansa wondered to herself what exactly made Prince Jon smile.

He was supposed to be Robb’s age, seven-and-ten, a man grown, and he certainly looked it. But where Robb had bright blue eyes and lithe limbs, Jon was stocky, muscled; clear even through the thick layers of clothing on his back as he followed father indoors. She caught Jeyne’s eye from across the courtyard and had to press her lips together to prevent a silly smile from flourishing on her face as she privately giggled to herself like a  _child_.

“How long is Jon supposed to be staying with us?” she asked Robb as she hurried along beside him. Arya had already broken free and was chasing Bran towards the kennel with a wooden stick she seemed to have procured out of nowhere. Robb gallantly offered her his arm up the steps and she took it gratefully. “Father said for as long as he wished to stay,” he told her, with a laugh. “Though if we go by his expression, it will not be long at all.”

_I will make him change his mind_ , was the last thought Sansa had before she followed Robb through the door into the warmth of the castle, smiling privately.


	2. supper

Jon was sat in front of her at supper.

She had barely suppressed a squeal when he had taken a seat between Robb and Father, placing him right in front of her, and Sansa had enough experience kicking Arya in the shins growing up to know that if she stretched her leg just so, she could brush against his under the table.

With all of the heavy winter coats removed from his frame, Jon was smaller than he had appeared at first; he almost shrunk into himself, as if used to being overlooked. It could not be easy, Sansa thought to herself, growing up as a bastard prince in King’s Landing. Word had it that Queen Elia despised him and what he stood for. Some had called it an insult to her that Jon the Bastard was being raised as a prince in the Red Keep along the trueborn children, Rhaenys and Aegon, but the king had not budged with his decision to have him when his mother had died.

Father had wanted to raise him himself, Sansa knew. She had overheard the conversation between her parents once, about how Aunt Lyanna had made him promise he would take care of him. But when the king demanded his son back, Lord Stark had to bend the knee and hand the baby over.

Sansa wondered what it would have been like to be raised alongside her cousin.  _Would I still think him handsome? Or would he be like a brother to me?_

“Are you fond of wolves, Jon?” she asked him between courses, when the conversation on the other end of the table had muted their side somewhat.

The prince turned to look at her, his mouth still set in a sour line and his eyes looked like they were cast in shadow, even with the flickering candles between them. They were grey, she realised with surprise, not black.  _Like Arya’s._  “I have never seen one,” he admitted, voice low.

She had expected as much, and was ready with a follow up question and a smile. “Would you like to?”

Something in his eyes lit up, and there was visibly more interest in his voice when he said, “It’s true, then? What they say? The Starks of Winterfell have direwolves?”

Proud and satisfied with herself, Sansa nodded. “Yes, we have each raised our own since they were cubs. Robb and Theon found them years ago. Mine is named Lady.”

“Are they not dangerous?”  _There’s no fear in his voice,_ she noted,  _just curiosity._

“No, we have trained them to be loyal to us. Lady wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Their conversation had caught on with her siblings, and it was Arya who spoke next, “Do you want to see mine, Jon? She’s called Nymeria like the warrior queen.  _I_  want to be more than just a lady.”

Sansa scowled at that, feeling her face burn red at her sister’s insolence, and opened her mouth to defend herself somehow but could not get a word out before Jon cut in. “Nymeria was a lady first. I think both are good names. Fitting for their owners.”

All mortification bled away from her face as she closed her mouth and stared at Jon.  _My prince in shining armour._  If she could have married him then and there, she would have. Arya didn’t get to her anymore like she used to, and she could have defended her wolf well enough on her own, but he had stepped up in her defense, barely knowing her, and Sansa fell a little bit in love with the prince.

She peered at him over her plate for the rest of the meal, and through she tried to catch his eye several times, and he spoke with her father and her brothers and even shared stories about the great warriors of the Dragon Age with her sister, Jon Targaryen still did not smile.


End file.
